Can All Be Traced Back to You
by manywingedescape
Summary: Blaine meets a stranger in a coffee shop and suddenly everything he knows of the past eight years of his life is turned upside down.
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers**: You should be at least caught up to On My Way, for reasons.

**Disclaimer**: As much as I'd love to claim them for my own, these characters aren't mine. Except the barista. That bitch is mine.

**Author's Note**: "All that I am and have these days can all be traced back to you." Back to You, Greg Laswell.

**Chapter One**

There's smoke rising in small wisps out of my coffee machine.

I'm not sure what I did to cause it to break, I'm pretty sure I followed the instructions, and it wasn't anything different than what I did with my last coffee maker. I decide to just unplug the thing and hope that maybe it'll cool or magically fix itself. I'm going to need coffee to get through the next two weeks of finals.

It's music history that's gotten me so flustered. I love it and find it interesting, but I've never been one with the ability to memorize dates and specific facts, which is unfortunately a lot of what music history's about. The listening aspect I've got down pat. I could listen to any piece of music and tell you the era , composer, and the instruments. You'd think this would help when it came to writing about it, but I always find myself so lost.

I sit down at the table in the living room and try to forget about how much a good cup of coffee would help my concentration. I find myself flipping through sheet after sheet with little success of getting the words into my long-term memory.

Somewhere between rifling through what feels like a million pages of notes and the smoke that's starting to seep more heavily out of my coffee machine, I get the idea that working down at the coffee shop around the corner would be more productive. It's a nice place, and I'm not in the busiest of neighbourhoods, so it's never really that full. I grab my stack of papers, clip them together and shove them in my bag before donning my jacket and my favourite scarf and then locking the door behind me.

The walk there doesn't take too long, and while the air is crisp, it's getting warmer as spring rolls in. I shove my hands in my pockets to keep them from going numb and pick up the pace, getting me there quicker than usual.

When I've arrived, I order my coffee and find a table off in a corner. The shop isn't very large, so "off in a corner" doesn't really mean much. I can still see the barista mixing specialty coffees behind the counter and the odd customer or two walking through the door.

I'm about to go straight to my notes when the small bell over the door rings and someone walks in. I typically tend to block out the sound of the bell, but I find myself looking up this time. I watch as a young man strides in, wearing an impressive looking jacket that looks like it was made to fit him. He glances quickly around the shop, looking like he's gathering his bearings – not a regular, it seems – and his eyes land on me briefly. I look away sharply, not wanting to be caught in the act of people watching, but I feel his gaze linger for a moment before I'm looking up again and he's moving towards the counter and the small line forming, looking suddenly stricken, as if he'd seen a ghost.

I shake my head softly, trying to rid the strange experience, and then I'm pulling out the papers from my bag and spreading them out on the small table in front of me. The larger table in my apartment would probably work better, but the walls were going to make me start pulling out my hair soon, trapped in there, studying for days. I try to focus my attention, but my eyes wander the shop again.

The stranger who I watched enter not long ago is standing up at the counter now. Instead of looking at the barista, however, he's looking at me. Glancing may be the more accurate term, trying to pretend, and failing, that he's not. I don't know what it is about me that makes him want to stare, but then I realize I'm staring right back, and drag my eyes away to focus on my papers again.

I hear a chair to my right scrape the floor, and I glance out of the corner of my eye to see the young man sitting down. He pulls out a notebook of some sort from his satchel and starts scratching at the paper with a pencil. I assumed writing at first, but he must be sketching something.

The longer I look, the more I realize that he's blinking a fair bit, and I wonder if the cool New York air blew something into his eye, or if he's having a bad day. He seems to be breathing difficultly as well. Not like he can't find the air he needs, more like he can't seem to control what he has. It's interesting, and I find myself wondering why I'm analyzing this stranger.

I bring my hand up and rub over my eyes before focusing back on my notes. There are dates scribbled in margins and more information than I think will ever break through the barrier of my brain, but I try anyways. _The Baroque period was circa 1600 to 1750, signalling the end of the Renaissance. Bach, Handel, Vivaldi. Functional tonality _–

I reach out for my coffee and my vision catches on the sight of the stranger hastily shoving his notebook back into his bag. I glance over and watch as he struggles to keep his cool and get out of his seat without tangling the strap of his bag around the chair or spilling his coffee over everything. As he gathers all his things, his eyes briefly shift up and catch mine and then dart away frantically. He blinks hard and then strides out as gracefully as he can manage.

I furrow my brow and wonder why a complete stranger would be acting so strange around me. Have I done something truly offensive with my hair today? Is it sticking up in the most random ways? The stranger had looked very put together, maybe my unruly curls were too much for him. Maybe it had nothing to do with me at all, and that's the most probable answer. I'm just Blaine Anderson, a stranger to him.

I go back to my notes, determined to do well on my music history final. _The establishment of opera, the harpsichord, clavichord, fortepiano…_

* * *

I decide it's best not to dwell on the strangeness of the encounter at the coffee shop. Instead, I focus solely on my studies. I throw myself in the words and sounds of Renaissance, Baroque, Classical. I've never found anything quite so interesting as music, whether it's the history or the present. Something about it soothes me and it's what I grasp and hold to get through difficult times.

But I'm fidgety now. Even though I know it's best not to think about the stranger at the shop, and I try hard not to, I've got his eyes burned into mine. It was the quickest flash of a sky blue, too quick and far away to note anything but the sharp, clear colour. It was like living your life with the blinds closed and then opening them one day to see the crisp afternoon sky.

I've almost finished all my finals, my second year at NYU drawing to a quick and stressful end. I debate going back to the coffee shop to study some more, but the thought of running into the stranger again makes the choice difficult. On one hand, I feel almost drawn in, like I should be searching him out, finding him again. If not to figure out what got him so flustered in the short span between walking in the door and sitting down, then to feel the swell inside me again at the colour in his eyes.

But on the other hand, I know I won't get any work done. If I go back, I might just sit at a table and watch the door, hoping that for some reason I'll get a glimpse of the stranger again. He shouldn't have me so riled up, but I can't help the wonder that shifts inside my brain. Just what was it that had his eyes flicking to me, and was it the same thing that had me looking back?

* * *

I go back to the coffee shop a week after my last final. My mind is now cleared of the jumble of words, dates, sounds, and I've come to the realization that maybe the stranger will clear out too, if I return to the shop and see that he's not there. Just a chance encounter that one day and that it didn't mean anything. That he was scrambling because of a work deadline or a loved one, and that it had nothing to do with me.

My plans of ridding my mind of him are thwarted though, when I walk through the door and see him sitting in the table I had been at the last time we'd both been in here. He looks up hopefully when the bell over the door rings and when he sees me he looks relieved, but then he ducks his head nervously. It seems we're playing a game of cat and mouse, waiting to see who will be the one to chase.

I make an impulse decision and walk up to the counter. The barista working right now, Megan, looks up at me and smiles familiarly. "Hey, haven't seen you 'round in a bit. The usual?" she asks, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder.

"Uh, yeah," I get out, powering through before I lose my nerve, "I had a question though."

"Oh?" She stops punching in my order and looks at me with an interested quirk of her eyebrow.

I shuffle on my feet and glance back at the stranger briefly. He's not looking up now, he looks like he's forcing his concentration on whatever he's sketching in his notebook. "That guy, at the table in the corner, how long's he been here this morning?"

She looks over at him and then looks back at me inquisitively before resuming punching in my order. "Funny you should ask," she says, "he's been here every day for the past two weeks. Just sits in that corner practically all day. He's been here for a few hours, why?"

I ignore her question, "I'll also get whatever he's drinking, his must be cold or gone by now."

She pauses for a moment and then shrugs her shoulders; business is business. I pay her and she hands over the drinks, giving me a hopeful smile as she does. I can tell that she thinks I'm courting, and I take a moment to ponder if I am. I mean, I'm buying coffee for a stranger based on a couple glances, and what might be terribly misread facial expressions.

I pause in my path to the stranger in the corner. What am I doing? What if this isn't what the stranger wants at all? What if I really did offend him with my hair last time? What if he was looking past me all those times I thought we made eye contact? I give myself 2 seconds to panic and then I take a deep breath and resume my way over to the table.

He doesn't look up when I approach, and it's almost like I can feel the tension rolling off of him as he stares intently at his work and doesn't allow himself the chance to look away. I observe how his eyes widen slightly when I know I must enter into his range of sight, and he draws his bottom lip into his mouth, taking a subtle breath before looking up at me inquisitively.

His eyes are just as blue as I remember; the same blue that's been haunting my dreams. I can see different specks of green in them as well, and I never thought I'd see something so beautiful. I blink and pull myself back from drowning, and hold up the extra drink I bought, "Thought you could use a refill."

He starts slightly at my voice and his gaze takes a break from my face and darts down to the cup in my hand. He opens his mouth to say something, but only air comes rushing out. The blue of his eyes disappears as he closes them for a moment, swallows, and it looks like he's steeling himself. For what, I'm not sure.

I place the drink down on the table, because whether he says anything or not, the drink was still meant for him. He opens his eyes and looks at the coffee, then back up at me. His voice is soft when he speaks. "Thank you."

I had thought that his eyes would cause me to drown, but I see now how you have to take everything into consideration. Where his eyes are the sea that pull you under, his voice is the warm blanket that dries you off and keeps you safe. I can't help the smile that plays upon my lips.

"You could join me," he suggests before floundering slightly, "if you'd like, that is."

I chuckle at his nervousness, and slide into the seat across from him. It's not that I'm not nervous, or that I'm simply used to handing over coffees to strange men I've only seen once, it's that he does it all so gracefully. Even as he had waved at the extra seat, it should have been awkward, but it was smooth and it settles my insides while lighting them aflame at the same time.

He flips his notebook shut quickly, and I can't help but ask, "What are you working on?"

"Oh, no, no," he splutters, "it's nothing."

"You looked like you were working pretty hard on it," I press.

He presses his lips together and meets my eyes, "Just work stuff."

I offer him a smile and then take a sip of my coffee, "Where do you work?"

He returns my smile with a smaller one and I watch as his fingers fidget around his drink, "Oh, just… just some internship in fashion, it's not really… it's not really interesting." He waves his hand slightly as if to brush the topic aside, but I can tell that he does think it's interesting, he just thinks I won't feel the same though.

"I'm Blaine, by the way," I tell him, and he stops dead, like he's been hit by a wall. He blinks twice before fixing the smile back on his face.

"That's a nice name," he says softly, then adds, "Kurt."

I reach my hand across the table, intending to shake his, but he stares at my skin for a moment, as if debating whether to actually engage in the custom. I'm about to take my hand back and spare us the awkwardness when his hand shoots off the table and grasps mine. It's like a bolt of lightning runs through my arm and I can't help the way my hand squeezes his for a moment too long.

He lets out a soft gasp at the contact and I have to rewire my brain in order to pull back. There is something about this man, Kurt, who's just grabbed all my belongings and rattled them up until I can't find left from right anymore.

We settle back in our seats and he looks sheepish while I press my hand into my hot cup, trying to stop the way that bolt of lightning has set my nerves into overdrive.

"What about you?" he asks suddenly, "What brought you to New York?" His eyes widen at his words and he tries to retract them, pull them back into his mouth, "I mean, that is if you haven't been here your whole life, I just assumed for some reason."

I can't help but laugh, and the sound allows Kurt the chance to relax. "I just moved here a couple years ago, why, do I scream not-native New Yorker?"

He smiles, "I just had a feeling."

"I go to NYU," I explain, "I'm studying music."

His face softens and he blinks rapidly a few times before focusing his attention on the table. I wonder what it is that's driving his emotions as it goes quiet for a bit.

"Look," I feel the need to explain as I stand, "I didn't mean to interrupt, you were obviously busy working."

His hand moves with startling speed as it reaches up and grasps my arm. There's that bolt of lightning again, tingling all my senses and threatening to clear my head of anything that isn't this intense feeling. Kurt's eyes are wide and pleading as he states, "No, no. You didn't interrupt anything. Please, sit back down."

I look into his eyes again and feel myself sinking back into my chair.

He laughs with only a little humour and smiles. Through the tingling of my skin I note that he hasn't removed his hand from my arm, and it feels strangely like it belongs there. "I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive me if I'm a bit…" he waves his free hand wildly in the air, "I… uh… I ran into an old friend the other day, and it's just kind of thrown me."

A small bit of disappointment weighs on my heart, and I know I shouldn't feel bad that the reason he's always been so flustered around me must be because of this friend. "Oh," I say, hoping the topic isn't so strange since we just met, "Someone special?"

He smiles sadly and his eyes get a bit glassy, "Yeah. He was."

My chest erupts at the same time it caves in. I guess I have been courting, since the wave of knowledge that he must still harbour feelings for this friend crashes over me just as my heart swells to have the confirmation that he could be an option.

Kurt must realize that my arm is still trapped under his hand because it pulls it back suddenly and takes a deep breath to rid the melancholy that must have settled over him. "Let's not think about that," he says, forcing brightness with a smile that could light up the room.

I laugh and ask him about his work again, to which he sighs in mock annoyance, rolls his eyes, and explains what it is that he does. It is interesting, and I try to keep up, but he picks up speed and starts using phrases and terms that must only make sense to those privy to the fashion world, and so I just take in his words, asking for clarification every now and then, and watch how he shifts into calm. Talking about something that makes sense to him and that he likes. It's a good look on him, comfortable and calm. I decide that I want to see it more often.

There's something about him. I'm not sure if it's the twinkle in his eyes or his smile, but there's something about it. It fills me with warmth right down to my toes, and I wish I could explain it. I'm smiling widely before I realize and he looks slightly bewildered but his eyes are still soft.

"What?" he asks.

I shrug and don't offer him anything else.

He blushes and then laughs, "I'm sorry, I've just been rambling over here, tell me about yourself."

I start to speak, beginning to tell him about my uninteresting life here in New York. A tiny apartment, a still broken coffee machine, those little mundane things. However, I hear a small noise and his eyes widen before he's fumbling at his pant pocket, pulling out a phone and muttering a "sorry" before reading the text that came in.

He sighs and the happy look that came over his face while talking fades away. He looks up at me and his eyes roam over my face as if he were trying to drink me in.

"Is it something important?" I question, and his eyes flit down to my lips when they form the words before shaking his head of some thought and smiling tightly.

"It's my roommate," he explains, "I… I have to go. I'm sorry."

I try not to be disappointed, but I don't know if I'll ever see this man again, and I'm not sure if I could do that. It was hard enough just seeing him before, he took over my thoughts and his eyes tattooed on the insides of my eyelids. Now I've got his voice and his touch and _him_ to add to it.

It's this thought that has me reaching out and grasping his hand when he goes to put his long-forgotten notebook back in his back. He startles at the contact and his eyes are wide as he looks into mine. "Please tell me I can see you again," I ask desperately.

He doesn't have any words, but he nods and then the corner of his mouth lifts in a sweet smile.

I try to ignore the fact that I get lost in his eyes again, and then I'm stuttering out, "That French restaurant down the street… would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow? At 6?"

His mouth hangs open for a second as he scrunches his eyebrows and his lips form around a word that looks like _how_ before he's nodding and smiling, "I would love to. I'll meet you there?"

"Yeah, okay." I feel like I'm in a daze suddenly.

He smiles widely and brushes my shoulder with his hand as he walks past me to the door. I reach my hand up to touch the spot. It feels like I've been burned by a tender fire.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It's all I can do not to fidget uncontrollably as I wait outside of the little French restaurant the next night. I'm early, by about half an hour, but I couldn't sit around my apartment anymore. There were papers and things I tried to organize, left over from the hurricane my apartment apparently went through during exam time, but they couldn't distract me from the way my insides were jumbling up.

I debated picking up some flowers or something, but decided that that might be too much. As well, with Kurt meeting me here, they might be in the way during dinner. And then I got a bit panicky, trying to figure out if I should bring anything at all or if it was too forward.

I have to stop myself and sit down on a bench. My mind's running rampant and I'm not sure what protocol is. If I'm being honest with myself, I've never really been on a date before. Not one that counted, not since the Sadie Hawkins dance back in high school. It's something that used to plague me and I'd wake from dreams feeling lonely and full of worry, but whenever someone would ask me out, I couldn't find it in me to accept. Something always seemed to be missing. And so now my brain's working overtime, hoping that I haven't pushed too much or done something wrong.

I'm taking a deep breath when I see Kurt walking down the street towards me. He's stunning. He captured me every which way at the coffee shop, and now he's capturing me in ways I didn't know someone could. His outfit is nice but not too dressy, and it looks as if it was made for his body. I can't quite catch my breath when his eyes fall on me and his face lights up.

"Hi," he says a little breathlessly. His eyes trail over my face; I always get the feeling that he's memorizing me, like he thinks I'll blink out of existence if he stops looking.

"You're early," I comment.

He smiles and something in my stomach shifts, flutters, does something it's not used to but feels so familiar. "So are you."

I laugh and make a motion towards the doors with my hands that seemed a lot smoother in mind. "Shall we head in then?" I ask, my face heating in my nervousness.

Kurt's face softens and the way he looks at me strikes something in my heart.

We head into the restaurant and sit at a table I reserved when I called earlier. It's off to the side, so that we're not in the middle of everything and can enjoy a little bit more privacy.

We make small talk for a bit, talk about the weather, how nice the restaurant is, "It's actually one of my favourites," Kurt comments offhandedly.

When it comes time to order, I pick something randomly off the menu, only to have Kurt lean forward and settle one of his hands on mine while pointing at an item on the menu, "Actually, I think you'd prefer this." I shrug and oblige. Kurt smiles and leans back, removing the warmth of his hand, and tells the waiter, in perfect French, what he'd like to order.

"So, you speak French?" I ask once the waiter has left us alone again.

He laughs lightly and waves it away, "Yeah, it's nothing really. Just something I picked up when I was younger."

I feel my forehead crinkle, "You just 'picked it up'?"

Kurt shrugs with one shoulder, "I thought it was a lovely language, so I surrounded myself with it whenever possible."

I nod and accept this information. "What else? Tell me more about Mr. Kurt… Kurt… Well, it seems I don't know much about you at all," I laugh.

"Hummel," he says with a strange smile, "Kurt Hummel."

"How very James Bond of you," I joke, "Blaine Anderson."

He laughs and I swear the sound of it sets sparklers aflame in my heart, then he puts on a very serious face that holds only a hint of the amusement I can see in his eyes, while holding out his hand, "Very nice to meet you, Blaine Anderson."

I return the shake and then question again, "So, tell me about yourself."

"Oh, what's there to say about me," he starts, "You already know I'm a fashion intern."

"That's just what you do, though. Tell me about who you are."

"Well, what I do is part of who I am, Blaine," his voice sounding fond as it rolls over my name, "But, I guess you need something else to satisfy your curiosity, right?"

His tone is playful, and I feel more comfortable than I ever have been with anyone. With family, friends, strangers. I smile and give him an affirmative nod.

"There's not much interesting about my life before university," he states, "Just another kid from small town Lima, Ohio–"

"Small world," I interject wondrously, and the smile that plays on Kurt's face borders on pained, and I wish I could take back the words and never have caused that look. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

He shakes his head, "No, no. It's nothing. I just…" he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth for a second, "I just always feel bad for anyone from around there."

"Oh, alright," I say, not sure if I believe the reason, but I let it slide anyways, "Tell me more then, about you." I lean forward on the table, resting one of my elbows on it, and placing my head in my palm.

"Well," he says, flushing lightly at my interested posture, "I'm not quite sure what you want to know."

"What's your favourite colour?" I shoot out immediately.

He lets out a small laugh and looks at me so fondly that I'm afraid he's going to melt, "Red."

"Why is that?" I ask, tilting my head. Red doesn't seem to suit him.

Kurt's eyes dart away and down, his voice softening when he replies, "I guess, someone I used to know… they wore a lot of red, and they were really special to me. I guess I just… red makes me think of them."

I instantly want to kick myself in the forehead. The look on his face is heartbroken as he lets it take over for a moment, before neatly folding it and tucking it into his back pocket, like he must always do. "I'm sorry, Kurt–"

"It's not your fault," he says, cutting me off, and it's so fierce that I feel myself recoil a little. Then he smiles and changes the subject, "What else do you want to know?"

I push away the heavy topic and decide it's something we might come back to another day, "Favourite house pet?"

"I like cats," he answers, "but I'm partial to puppies sometimes, as well."

"Alright," I say, "What about your family? What's your dad like?"

"My dad's great. He is the one constant in my life, always loving me and caring. I don't know what I'd do without him," Kurt replies, a small smile on his face before he quietly adds, "Please don't ask about my mother."

I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I just lightly nod my head, "Okay."

"I've got a step-brother, Finn," he carries on before I get the chance to ask anything else, "I went to highschool with him, and then my dad married his mom, and by funny chance, we became brothers."

I'm still reeling from his earlier comment, my brain trying to place the story of his father marrying when Kurt was in highschool with him not wanting me to ask about his mother. My mind provides many options for what it might be, but I try to push them back until he tells me, refusing to believe the worst.

"Sounds like an interesting story," I offer.

He smiles, "Maybe for another time."

My heart leaps suddenly, into my stomach and then immediately into my throat, trying to jump out of my chest.

Kurt takes my silence as a cue to continue, "That's the basis of my family, just my dad and me for a while and then the addition of Finn and his mom. Got by most of the time with friends."

"Good friends?"

His face turns thoughtful and far away, remembering the past, "They became good friends. We were in a Glee club and therefore banded together, but at the end of high school… we went our separate ways, but that's when we became closer."

I straighten up in my seat and try to figure out which question to ask first, "Isn't it supposed to be the other way? That you grow apart when you go separate ways?"

Kurt blinks hard and picks up a fork on the table, finding something to fiddle with, "It's just that… something happened around graduation and… we realized we all cared about each other more than we thought."

"Can I ask…?" I trail off, not knowing if this is first-date material to get into, or if I just shouldn't push it.

He shakes his head, putting the fork down, "No. Not today. Not right now."

I nod my head once, "Alright. Tell me about this Glee club then. You sing?"

Kurt laughs and we talk music for a bit, him telling me things that he's performed and seeking my opinion and thoughts, and I start to pitch in with the things I've learned in university so far. This is a comfort zone for us. We don't deviate to whatever it is that Kurt doesn't want to talk about, and while I'd like to help him feel better about it, I know it's not my place right now.

A quiet lull falls over us as the waiter returns with our food. When he leaves, Kurt picks up his drink and watches as I pick a piece of food off my plate and pop it in my mouth. I have to admit, Kurt was right. Whatever it was I was going to order before couldn't be better than this.

I make a noise of appreciation and Kurt's laughter fills my ears again before he's saying, quite smugly, "I told you that you'd like that."

I simply nod and make another noise of satisfaction. I feel like I should be nervous under his watchful gaze, but instead I preen a little. Knowing he wanted to pick something I liked, and that he wanted to make sure I actually liked it as well. I feel safe in his eyes.

Kurt places his drink back down on the table, "Now that I've been thoroughly interrogated, what about you? Tell me everything."

I laugh nervously, feeling my insides twist, so I stick to the things that are easy to explain, "Well, I, too, am from Lima. You think I'd have seen you around or something before." I stop at the look on his face, filled with such determination not to fall. He's smiling, but it looks hard for him, and I figure it's because of his previous statement. He just feels bad for kids from Lima, and I can understand that from what I've seen.

"My family?" I continue, "Well, my mom, she's great. She doesn't work much anymore, but she used to be a chef. But she hasn't worked since… Since around the time my little sister started highschool. I think she felt bad for not being home when we were kids."

"Kids?" Kurt asks, "How many of you are there?"

I huff out a laugh, "Okay, I probably shouldn't say 'kids' per say, there's a lot of age gaps in my family, we were never all kids at the same time."

He tilts his head and his expression says for me to continue.

"My brother, Cooper," I explain, "He's an actor in LA, in a few commercials. We used to have some issues, but… he's not as bad as I once thought. Really caring. And there's my sister, Emily. She's 5 years younger than me. Actually starting university this coming year, I think it's going to be great for her. She'll have fun." I realize I've trailed off talking fondly about my siblings. Cooper and I had troubles since we were kids, but Emily and I were always close due to her endless amount of energy and overly accepting nature.

He nods but doesn't add further comment about it, instead opting for lighter things, "Well, you got to know, so what's your favourite colour?"

"Blue. Kind of like your eyes," I answer immediately without thinking. Kurt blinks a few times in response before I realize what I've said and start to stumble in repair, "Uh, strange coincidence, I guess. I swear that wasn't some cheesy come-on line."

I worry that I might have said the wrong thing but he just blushes, lets a small smile take over his face, and looks down at his food, as if he suddenly just realized it there. He lifts some of it on his fork and before popping it in his mouth, asks, "Favourite house pet?"

"Well, I am a dog guy," I answer, "But I guess I could be partial to cats sometimes. If persuaded appropriately."

He grins and I can't stuff down the giddy little kid in me who just want to jump on the couches and scream off of rooftops about this feeling in my heart.

We talk about life in university, his life out of it so far, and occasionally return to the topic of the Glee Club Kurt was in, while we eat. It's easy and I feel so relaxed around him. Like he enjoys my company and not someone he's expecting me to be. Too soon we've finished eating and are standing outside the restaurant, both pretending about how we really don't want the night to end.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" I suggest.

"Yeah, sure," he replies, and I like to think that he looks faintly relieved because he didn't want the date to end yet either.

"There's a park just a couple blocks from here."

"I know, Blaine. I live here too." He starts walking down the street and I shake my head and the combination of my foolishness and the fondness in his voice. I run to catch up with him.

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

When we get closer to the park, I feel the back of his fingers graze across mine. I look out the corner of my eye and he seems almost unaware of what's happened, but I get the sense that he did it on purpose, so I take it as an invitation. I slide my fingers into the palm of his hand, and while I was aiming to simply hold on, our fingers end up twined together. When I look at him now, he's got a small smile on his face.

We slow to a stop in the middle of the park. There's a clearing in the middle of the trees and the moonlight is shining down like a spotlight. I look up and imagine that I can see the ocean of stars that are blocked out by the city lights. The slight breeze is warm and that accompanied by the feel of Kurt's hand in mine settles me. Before I realize it, I'm humming a tune that I've never heard before, but promise myself to call "Kurt's Song."

I feel his eyes on me before his unoccupied arm slinks under mine and rests against my back. Instinctively, I raise my hand and grip his shoulder as I look back into his eyes. He raises our twined hands and starts to spin us slightly to my humming. I feel so calm.

I'm not sure how long we sway in the moonlight, but eventually I feel the song come to a close, as if that's the spot where it must end and I can't drag it out any longer just to prolong this moment. I pull us to a stop, but don't move to retract my arms, and neither does he.

The quiet stretches on before I know what I must do. My eyes dart from his down to his lips, and I know he hasn't missed the action from the way he's intently staring at me. "Kurt," I whisper, my voice coming out lower and more haggard than I expected, "May I kiss you?"

He smiles that sad smile of his, and pleads when his lips part, "Please."

I prolong the moment, looking from his eyes to his lips and back again, but I feel myself being pulled in, and I can't help but lean into him. I shift up a bit on my toes and arch my head up to him, letting my eyes drift shut.

The second my lips brush his, I know this is it. I know this is what I haven't been aware I was missing. What I've been looking for all my life. It's silly and ridiculous to fall so deep after so little of an action, but I can't seem to help it.

He gasps softly, and I wonder what it would be like if we were actually kissing. If this was more than just the electricity running back and forth between the lightest of touches. Before I can ponder it any longer, Kurt's taking over, pushing forward and claiming my lips with his own. I'm suddenly light-headed, but grounded more than I've ever been. I feel like I'm his.

Kurt's fingers let go of my hand, and I temporarily mourn the loss before they're reaching into the hair at the back of my neck. His hand on my back tugging me in tighter. I allow my now free hand to slide onto his other shoulder and pull him as close as I can.

I feel like I'm melting. With our lips moving slowly against each other's, our bodies trying to mold together. And then his tongue plays across my bottom lip and I'm on fire. Everywhere his skin touches feels like flames and I'd be happy to burn to ashes.

I want to grasp at him more, pull him closer and never let go, but he's retreating, and so I let him. When his lips part from mine he gives a small sound that sounds so broken that I just want to hold him and tell him everything will be alright. He hasn't let go of me, just standing with his mouth so close to mine that I can feel every breath on my lips, and it feels like we're magnets, the way we're both trying not to dive back under.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…" Kurt trails off, and I assume he means for the direction he had taken the kiss.

"Please don't apologize," I plead, my voice gone breathy, "please just kiss me again."

And so he does, without another word he presses back in and I surrender to him. Every piece of me is no longer mine, and I should be scared of how easily it was to place my heart with him, but I don't feel empty, I feel like I gained something, and I hope I'm not fooling myself when I feel the weight of his heart pressed back into my hands.

* * *

"He's… he's wonderful," is what I say when I'm on the phone with my mother later than night.

I'm back in my apartment after Kurt protested me walking him home and ended up with me at my doorstep, kissing again under the streetlights, afraid to let go of what had felt so magical.

I had almost forgotten that it was a Tuesday night, and that I call my mother every Tuesday since I left home. It's something she insists on, prepared to let her baby bird fly, but not quite ready to cut the ties. And so after wandering through the rooms of my apartment in a daze, caught up in the daydream of my head that surrounded Kurt, my phone rang and I picked up to hear my mother in a slight panic. When I hadn't called her around our usual time, it must have freaked her out.

And somehow we made it from the topic of calming her down to explaining where I was and why I didn't call, and that I'd met someone. I talked around him for a moment before deciding to give up and in to my mother's questions. I heard my voice go dreamy, but I didn't have the heart to school it and not let on to my mother how infatuated I was.

And then I dropped all pretence and just started talking about how wonderful Kurt is.

"I'm glad, honey," her voice coming through the line, "What did you say his name was?"

I smile, and I can feel the force of it splitting my face, "Kurt."

There's silence for a moment, and when my mother's voice comes back, it's stressed, concerned, with a touch of confusion, "Kurt?"

I'm too lost in his name to really pay much attention to the change in her voice, and I figure I'll call her on it later. I know how she gets, and she's probably just worrying that I'll get my heart broken. "Yeah," I answer, "And at the risk of seeming cliché, and like every rom-com, he's… I don't know, mom. There's just something about him."

She doesn't respond, and after a minute I hear a small sniffle, and her voice is thick when she answers, "That's great, Blaine."

"Mom… Are you crying?"

There's a pause, and then, "I just realized that I've made some mistakes in my life."

A flare of anger licks through my body before I can contain it, and I'm not sure what she's referencing, maybe dad or something else, but I can't help the slight edge in my voice, "That's what you're thinking about right now?"

But she doesn't reply to that, she simply says, "I'm just so happy for you." And despite the thickness in her voice, I can tell it's sincere.

"Thanks mom," I reply, and I find it too hard to be angry with her right now when I can still taste Kurt on my lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: _There will be two author's notes in this note, so bear with me here, this might take a bit._

_First, a more formal note: It has come to my attention (through lj and FFN) that there is at least one other fic that's very much like this one. I just wanted to say that I didn't even know that fic or any fic like this fic already existed (though I had an idea that something similar might possibly be out there somewhere in the universe), so none of my ideas for this fic came from any others, however similar they may seem. Also, even though this is updating as a wip, this is a completed fic. The fact that I've now read through a similar work of fiction hasn't changed this story, none of the ideas from that story worked its way into mine. As well, I have directly approached the author of the other fic and apologized for any similarities and that I never meant for my fic to appear to be plagiarizing theirs. I wrote this fic back in April, during a few late nights when I should have been studying instead, and was unaware of this other strangely similar fic until people commented about it after last week's chapter post. I meant no harm in my writings, and only meant to share with the world some words that came out of my strange head. I apologize for how my words and actions may have been misinterpreted and for any hassle this has caused._

_Secondly, on a more… fun(?) level, because I am the biggest nerd to ever nerd, and because we will now see a lot of Blaine's apartment, I may have constructed a floor plan for it, which can be viewed here: wingedescape dot tumblr dot com (/) post (/) 25998992096_

_Oh, I lied, one more, since we're already here. Thanks so much for your comments, they always make me so happy. And whether I reply directly to you or not, I appreciate the time you took to read and comment on this fic. _

_Now, horribly long a/n aside, onwards to chapter three!_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Kurt and I never said goodbye after that first date. I'm not sure if either of us realized it at the time, but we instead filled the air with "I'll see you again," "Later, then," and "I can't wait until our next date." And a next date we did have. And another and another. And with each one, my heart belonged less and less to me, and more to him.

"Kurt?" I ask one day. We're in my kitchen and he's attempting to teach me how to make some super healthy – "but still delicious" – soufflé, but it's mostly going over my head as I choose to watch him instead of what he's doing. "What are we?"

"What are we?" he repeats with a wry grin. He doesn't stop what he's doing until he realizes that I'm waiting for an actual answer, and when he finally looks up and sees my serious expression he simply smiles and wipes his hands off on a dish towel. "Well, we're Kurt and Blaine, are we not?"

I slump into the counter and give him an exasperated look, "You know what I mean."

His smile only widens and he leans forward to peck me on the lips and then speak softly against them, "I kind of assumed you were my boyfriend." When he pulls back slightly he looks more nervous, "That's okay, right?"

I think that this is one of those moments where I can mess with him, so I don't reply and instead watch as his nervousness grows and he starts to ramble, "I mean, we've been seeing each other for almost two months, I just thought… oh god, I've gone and over thought things and now I'm telling you and ruining everything and oh–"

I reach out and wrap my hands around his waist, yanking him towards me and into my body. "You are so adorable," I whisper as I nuzzle into his neck. He tries to put up a fight for a moment, clearly displeased with my actions, but then he simply melts into my arms.

"You'll be the death of me one day, Blaine Anderson," he sighs, brings his hands up, and curls them into my hair, pulling my face out of the crook of his neck so that he can kiss me, and I go willingly.

I feel it in that moment, but know it's not the right time. The words on the tip of my tongue when we surface for air, but I don't say them. Instead, I smooth my hands up and down his back and dive in for another kiss, deepening this one and seeking permission into his mouth with my tongue, which he grants.

I get that feeling rush up my spine that always comes from kissing Kurt. Like I want to crawl under his skin. Even when I've pulled him as tight as I can, his body flush with mine, I can't help but want to be closer. Can't help but want everything about him.

He smiles when he pulls back, and though he's a little breathless, I can see him trying to not show how affected he is. He turns back to the soufflé and goes about finishing it with only a shy glance at me that betrays him with the twinkle in his eyes.

"Do you have work tomorrow?" I ask as I jump up onto the counter, realizing I'll be of little help to him and that we should really stop this nonsense where we think I'm learning anything about cooking.

"Nope. Day off." He frowns adorably at me and I know he disapproves of me sitting on the counter, so I shrug and lift my eyebrow in challenge, and he simply rolls his eyes and goes back to the soufflé. "Why?"

I grin and lift one of my legs to trail my toes down the side of his leg, "We should do something."

He finishes up with whatever step it was he was on in his elaborate cooking plan and turns to look me in the eye, "You should get a job, that's what you should do. I know your parents are happily paying for most of this, but really, Blaine?"

I laugh at his seriousness, "I have a job at the school during the year, I can make do without one in the summer."

He steps closer and I move my legs so he can stand between them. "You're impossible," he says, his eyes lighting up as he looks at me.

"But you like it," I tease, and I can feel my nose scrunching under the smile I'm trying to tone down.

Kurt shrugs and his lips quirk up, "Yeah, kind of."

"Come here," I murmur, and then I'm gripping his shoulder and tipping his chin up slightly with my other hand so that I can press my lips to his. The fact that I can feel us both smiling into the kiss doesn't do anything to help me supress mine.

Suddenly there's a ding sounding from the oven and I jump a bit as it rings through the air. Kurt laughs into my mouth before he's pulling away and stepping back. "Just the oven, sweetheart," he assures, patting me on the leg, and the pet name has me forgetting all about any embarrassment I should feel. Instead I watch him as he puts the soufflés in the oven and feel my heart hammering away in my chest. Banging my ribs until they want to scream in protest. There's the words again, on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back for another time.

"Do you have to leave early again tonight?" I question when he stands up, "I know you don't really like walking around these streets when it's dark."

"I'll do anything to stay out later tonight," he answers, walking back over to the spot between my legs that he previously vacated, resting his hands on my thighs, "Rachel's having Quinn over again, and I know they'd prefer I don't come home early. For reasons they refuse to explain but I obviously already know."

I chuckle and let him have a moment to feel superior before I shyly suggest, "You know, you don't have to go home tonight."

His eyes shift to mine a little nervously and I'm sure he caught my meaning, but then the corner of his lips lift slightly and I know this is going to turn into a game. "Well, where would I sleep if I didn't go home?"

There's mischief in his eyes now and I feel my face heat up a few degrees, "You could… you could stay here."

Kurt looks over his shoulder at the living room and then back into my eyes. The blue of his seem electric. "On the couch?"

"If that's what you prefer," I tease back with a quirk of my eyebrow.

There's only a moment before Kurt gives up the game and is pressing his lips to mine, reaching his hands behind me to press against my back and slide me off the counter and towards him. My feet touch the ground for a second before he's pulling me with him as he makes his way into the living room, mouth still attached to mine.

The whole world seems to shift out of focus and all I can pay attention to is the soft heat of his lips and his tongue against mine, searching almost desperately in the kiss. His hand burns as it finds its way under my shirt and touches the skin at the small of my back. This isn't new territory for us but it never fails to make me gasp lightly at the contact.

Kurt claims me over and over again, through his lips sliding across mine with his tongue exploring and finding every place that causes me to whimper into his mouth, and through his hands tracing delicately but firmly over every bit of skin he can reach. One hand tangling in my hair and then sliding down the back of my shirt, the other moving around to my stomach to simply feel. He could take and take and all I'd want to do is give more.

My hand runs through the silky strands of his hair and he hums appreciatively at the action before I'm grasping, trying to pull his face in closer. My other hand slides up his arm and I feel the strong muscle under his skin. I want to devour and be devoured.

My legs hit the couch and with the help of Kurt's firm grip, I'm lowered into the cushions gracefully without ever losing his lips. He settles over me and his weight is heavy but reassuring. I feel his knee graze my leg as it presses between me and the back of the couch.

Our lips part for a moment so that we can catch some air and the sudden rush of oxygen makes me remember something before he's pressing back again and I'm gasping in the small break of our lips, "Oven?"

He kisses me hard for a moment before pulling back and sitting up slightly, just enough to peak over the back of the couch to see the clock on the stove, "We've got ten minutes." And then he's swooping back in, jumping right back to where we left off.

"To make out?" I clarify breathlessly in the small space between us, because I don't want him thinking that me asking him to stay meant I wanted a ten minute quickie before dessert for our first time.

He smiles lightly against my lips, "Of course to make out, silly." His words are followed by his lips slowing against mine, taking the hunger we'd both been displaying and replacing it with a more calm and affectionate kiss.

I feel myself relax into the couch, all the urgency and rush taken out of the moment and I'm content to simply melt into his touch. His hand slips back under my shirt and strokes up my stomach to my chest and back down again, and it soothes me while sending bolts of lightning through my senses. I move one of my hands from his shoulders to stroke down his back and tuck my fingers under the edge of his shirt, and he lets out a shaky breath through his nose, clawing at the skin of my stomach for a moment.

I break my lips away from his, overwhelmed by the desire to taste, and I duck my head down, pressing my lips under his jaw, causing him to lift his chin and let out a quiet moan. I part my lips slightly and start to place kisses as I trail down his neck. When I near his collarbone, I dart my tongue out and press it firmly against his skin in a wet slide. Above me I hear Kurt let out a strangled whimper and I know that I'll do anything to cause that sound again.

I press my lips hard against his skin and then suck a bit of it into my mouth, and the sound I hear Kurt make borders on a sob before he pulls away from my lips, forcing his face closer to mine and then his lips are against mine again, back to hungry and desperate.

It's not seconds after our mouths have reconnected that I hear the dinging of the oven again. Kurt lets out a rumbling noise and pulls back from me. I can't help it when I grumble, "That wasn't ten minutes," but it's all alright when Kurt's face splits into a grin and he laughs.

He climbs off me and the cold hits instantly. The heat of his body was comforting and I miss it immediately. I reach down and fix my shirt where it's been rucked up as Kurt walks back to the kitchen. The whole act of Kurt cooking in my kitchen is so domestic that it has me smiling fondly at him as he works. I could get used to this.

We eat our dessert sitting at the bar in the kitchen, and I swing one of the stools around to the other side so that I can sit across from him and see him while we talk about small mundane things. Inside my blood is thrumming, and I feel so much for this man that it almost frightens me. He gets a bit of food stuck to his lip and before I know what I'm doing, I'm leaning forward and kissing it off. He looks startled at first but then he just blushes and continues eating. The next time there's a little on his bottom lip, I know he's done it on purpose.

We're laughing by the time we're done, and I rinse the dishes and place them in the sink to come back to later. He places a hand on my back and then slips it around to the front to hug me from behind, hooking his chin over my shoulder and kissing my jaw. I take a breath to steady myself and absorb the moment. The tenderness of such an action. I let my hands join his wrapped around me and I feel like I'm home.

I turn in his arms and find his eyes closed, a peaceful look on his features. I lift my hands and trail them down the sides of his face, allowing his eyes to slowly blink open as he smiles. "I don't mean to be forward but…" is all I get out before he's nodding and then pressing his lips to mine, chaste and sweet.

I shuffle him back out of the kitchen and down the hall to my room, returning every short kiss he gives along the way. I catch his foot slightly with mine when we turn into my room and he smoothly rights us and chuckles against my lips.

We end up on my bed, tangled legs and hands everywhere, soft light filtering through the window as the sun sets and from a lamp in the corner. I push his shoulder and roll us so that I'm leaning over him. I take a moment to pull back and look into his eyes, and then trail my gaze over his face. He's so beautiful, and I'm the luckiest person in the world for stumbling across him. And I'm the lucky one who was chosen by him.

Kurt smiles and he looks like he's been waiting years for this. "I'm so happy I'm here with you," he says softly as he blinks a few times and runs his fingers through my hair. I lean down and kiss him again as I shift my leg over his so that I'm straddling his hips.

I take a moment to explore his mouth, memorize every dip and tooth. The exact feeling of his tongue sliding against mine and the shocks that ripple through my body when he presses his back. Neither of us are fighting for dominance, simply enjoying each other.

He moves his hands from their spot on my waist to the hem of my shirt and he starts to pull up. I unwillingly detach myself from his lips and rise up enough so that he can tug the shirt off of me. When it's been tossed somewhere off the bed I lean down again and return to his mouth while his hands start to roam over my body. Sliding against the skin of my shoulders, my chest, my back. Smoothing his hands over every inch as if he'll never get enough of it. A parched man finding water.

I kiss across his face and against his neck while I start to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, popping them open from the top down. As more skin is exposed, I drag my lips down father, barely kissing, and I hear his breath stutter and hitch.

When I get to the last button, I kiss his stomach and dart my tongue into his belly button temporarily, which causes a small sound of surprise out of him as his muscles clench. I tuck my hands under his back and urge him to sit up a little. He takes the cue and lifts slightly and I push the shirt off his shoulders and then carefully tug it from under him, letting it drop to the floor beside the bed.

As I look at him, I realize now why his hands had greedily stroked over me, and I find myself unable to keep from reaching out and tracing my hands across his skin. He's so soft and I wonder again how I'm so lucky. I lean down and capture his lips with mine and he reaches up to grasp at the back of my neck to keep me there. I brace my hand on the bed next to him and trail my other down his stomach to the button of his jeans, flicking open the button as his nails scratch into my hair.

I run my palm lightly down over the front of his jeans and everything is hot and hard and I can't help but moan as I press my lips more firmly against his. When I press my hand against him as I draw it back up to his zipper he jolts against me and yanks a bit at my hair, his other hand roaming down to tug at my pants, but I knock him away to focus on the task at hand.

When I've got his zipper undone, I shift my legs so that I can balance without my one hand on the bed, and I start to pull back to tug his pants off. Kurt whines when our lips detach, but lets me go. He shifts his hips up to help me get his jeans down his legs and I crawl backwards, exposing inch by inch of glorious skin. When I reach the end of the bed, I step off and pull his pants over his feet, placing them on the floor. I watch as Kurt pulls himself up and shuffles to the end of the bed, reaching forward and unbuttoning, then unzipping, my jeans and sliding them down my legs, letting me step out of them.

He's leaning forward before I realize and suddenly there's a hot breath and then an explosive heat as he mouths over me through a thin layer of cotton. I gasp out his name and my fingers thread into his hair. I feel him smile against me and he's sucking enough to make my legs shake and then he's pulling back and looking up at me as he hooks his fingers around my last sense of coverage. I nod and he pulls them off, his eyes darting down and he looks so comfortable that it eases my nerves.

Kurt looks back up at me and then he's reaching up, grasping around my ribs as he shifts back on the bed and pulls me down on top of him. He kisses me once and then he's rolling us over so that he's on top and he's attaching his lips to my neck. I smooth my hands down his side and tuck my hands under his briefs and then I'm easing them off, allowing him to clamber awkwardly out of them while still kissing and licking at my neck.

It's when I run my hands up the backs of his thighs and up over his ass that I realize that we're really here, and that I'm lying naked under Kurt. He lowers his body over mine and the familiar weight of him settles, and I can feel every line of his body. I've never felt so wonderful.

Kurt rolls his hips down into mine and a fire blazes its way outward, lighting everything in its path. A groan rips itself from my throat as I toss my head back, exposing my neck to Kurt, who takes the new angle as an opportunity and starts sucking a kiss to my pulse. I buck up into him from the pleasure and his lips let go in a surprised gasp.

He moves his lips back up to mine and it's almost like we're trying to devour each other through kissing and tasting and exploring. Tongues doing an elaborate dance that I can't track the movements of as he rolls and grinds his hips into mine. And when I feel him, hot and heavy, up against me, I can't help but cry out softly around his lips.

He pulls back slightly, putting enough distance to keep the heat but allow us to think and breathe. He says my name and it sounds like a question, so I remove my hand from his skin and wave towards my nightstand. "In the drawer," I answer hoarsely, the sound of it almost shocking to me, I've never heard it so low.

The second his body leaves mine I regret letting him go. The cold rushes over my flushed skin and I ache to have him back in my arms. I hear him fumbling around in the drawer and I glance over at him. He's so beautiful. He gathers what we need and then catches me staring. He shakes his head fondly as if this is something he's used to from me and climbs back up on the bed, nudging my knees apart and waiting for me to nod before settling between them.

He raises himself over me then and kisses me sweetly as I feel his cool fingers trace up my thigh, and then I put all my trust in him as pleasure and a dull pain washes through me. His movements are sure and calm inside of me, and I relax under his touch despite the fire coursing through my veins, dying for some form of relief. I trail my hand over his arm and feel his muscles twitching as he moves.

Kurt continues to kiss me despite his attention being focused elsewhere, and I use the moment to take and take. While I would give everything to him, in this moment he is offering himself as I do the same in other ways, so I run my palm over his cheek and kiss him until I can't breathe. I feel his arm shift slightly under my hand and then he's searching inside of me and my body rocks as I try not to lose his lips.

When I feel him remove his fingers and he trails them back down my thigh, I let go of the capture I have on his mouth. We both suck in some air when we part and I fight with myself to not just claim his plump swollen lips again.

I hear a crinkle in his hands and I take his distraction as an opportunity to look down and observe his body. He's pale but flushed and he looks perfect. Like a marble statue come to life. My heart swells to know that he'd want to be with me.

He shifts more comfortably over me and I look up to see him staring into my eyes with a small affectionate smile on his face. My heart thrums and I couldn't imagine being with anyone else. I pull his face down for another kiss as he runs his hand over my leg and pulls it up for a better angle before slowly easing in.

I pull away from the kiss and look into his face as a million different feelings take over my body. From pleasure, to pain, and most of all, to love. And I know it's too soon but the words are dying to jump off my tongue and so I seek out Kurt's mouth again, hoping to press the words into him instead.

He moves over me, in me, all around me, and I'm so lost in him, but I've never felt so safe or comfortable. So found. I never imagined it could be like this. I watch when he squeezes his eyes shut and shifts his hips differently to push back in, and it's there again, the wildfire sparking my whole body to life, and a gasp rolls out of my mouth as my eyes screw up against it. The floodgates open and pleasure comes pouring in as he continues to be there every time.

Kurt eventually lowers his head to my shoulder, whimpering my name, and I run my hands through the sweat gathering on his back, stroking up and down and digging in my nails with each crash and explosion inside of me. "Please," I hear myself say, and I'm not sure what I'm begging for.

He runs one of his hands across my stomach and then down further, touching and stroking and I feel I must be burning hotter than the sun. I'm gasping for air and pleasure is running through me even to the tips of my fingers.

He's jerky and uncoordinated now and he's whining and making noises that I'm sure I'd notice myself reciprocating if only I could focus on anything other than the jolts of electricity racing through my spine and the heat flaming in my belly.

"Kurt," my voice is weak, drowned out by the force of the storm raging through my blood, but it catches his attention and he raises his head to look into my eyes. "Kiss me."

And so he does, pressing his lips desperately to mine and my body reacts instantly. The height of the storm, the climax of the symphony, my body rocks violently into his and I'm clutching, trying to stop from breaking apart as pleasure rushes in waves through my body, crashing and causing everything to go fuzzy for a moment as I shudder.

He moans when I pull him in tight and then he's falling too, body seizing and pushing as close as possible within me while he shakes and rips apart, tearing his lips away to gasp silently and then sink down over me. I hold him as he swallows as much air as he can and my lungs burn from the lack of oxygen themselves as I breathe in deeply.

When he catches his breath, he lifts himself from me and silently captures my lips, claiming me again, knowing I'd willingly go. When he pulls back he huffs out a small happy breathless laugh and then removes himself from inside me, rolling off to the side, and I close my eyes and try to catch my bearings. I'm suddenly groggy, but I'm loose and happier than I've ever felt in my life. I shift and feel the wet of my stomach, so I open my eyes and look at Kurt, who's been staring at me while my eyes were closed. "Could you help?" I ask, gesturing towards my stomach.

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles, and moves over on his back a little to grab a tissue from the nightstand and then he reaches over and helps clean me up. "Better?"

"I was only asking for the tissue," I clarify, "but thank you."

He grins and his expression is so tender that I feel like I could fall for him over and over again every day from just that look. "Let's get some sleep now," he suggests softly, and then he's snuggling tiredly down into me, using my arm as a pillow. I crane my neck and give him a goodnight kiss that he returns eagerly, and then he's drifting away, my other arm draping over his waist.

Kurt nuzzles into my shoulder, and even though I always found the thought of it slightly creepy, I can't help but watch him as he tips on the edge of peaceful sleep. I bring my hand up and lightly trail my thumb across his cheek, "Kurt?"

He hums softly and clings tighter, and I'm not sure whether he heard me or if that was just his instinctive reaction to the sound of my voice. "Kurt," I whisper softly, "I am so in love with you."

He smiles and buries his face into me so that he's resting against my chest. I don't know if he acknowledged what I said and I think that it may be for the best. That we may not be there yet even though my blood seems to thrum with the feeling.

Instead of worrying, I decide to preserve the moment. I wrap my arms more firmly around him, press a soft kiss to his forehead, and close my eyes, sleep finding its way to me easily.

It is when I'm drifting off, in the land between awake and dreaming, when I hear it, sweet and full of pure joy in a gust against my chest.

"I'm so glad I found you again."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_I'm so glad I found you again._

I hear the words right as I tip into the land of sleep and they swirl around in my dreams, not enough to wake me or jolt me to life, but to plague themselves into the corners of my subconscious, tugging at all the things I know, or assume I know.

When I wake, it's early, and Kurt is still tucked into my arms, a content smile on his lips as he presses his cheek into my skin. I take a moment to memorize his face and watch as his chest shifts with each breath. He's truly spectacular. After a moment, the words come rushing back in though, like the dam being lifted, and then I can't find it in me to sit here watching anymore.

I untangle myself from Kurt, shifting him gently off my shoulder to not wake him, and then crawl out of bed, digging through my drawers for a pair of sweatpants, and then I quietly pad out to the kitchen. When I'm there I heave myself onto one of the stools at the bar and bury my face in my hands.

I don't even know what the words mean. For all I know he was thinking about someone else. Thinking about someone he used to be with, someone who meant a lot more. I had thought it was just him and me in that bedroom, but maybe there was another, a ghost of a past lover.

I tell myself that it's nothing to get worked up about. Maybe he meant that he found me again after that first run in at the coffee shop where we had a conversation through glances instead of words. Maybe, maybe, maybe. It's nothing I should be getting myself worked up over.

I peel myself off the stool and start rummaging through my cupboards and refrigerator. As confused as I am, it should be a little better after some breakfast. I can make a mean pancake, and I hope Kurt likes them.

I've got all the ingredients around the stove and I'm ready to get started when I hear the soft sound of feet touching ground behind me, and seconds later Kurt has his hands running along my sides and around to the front, hooking his chin over my shoulder, mimicking the position from last night in here.

"Do you need any help?" he asks, and I feel my worries and concerns start to trail away with the sound of his voice. He's the only one who's ever made me feel like I'm home and I shouldn't be questioning him so much when it feels like this.

I let one of my hands join and twine with his as I tilt my head back and nose at his cheek, "I was going to make you breakfast."

He chuckles, "I hope you were going to make some for yourself as well."

I smile and allow him to press a kiss to my lips. This is how it's supposed to be the morning after. This comfortable calm, not the worry and questions that have been bombarding me since I heard those words.

"Go, sit down," I tell him and he lets go with a kiss to my cheek and a hand trailing over my skin. I turn and watch as he walks over to the bar stools and note that he's found another pair of my sweatpants, and even though they're a little short for him, he wears them anyways. It makes something flutter in my heart, and even though questions have taken over since this morning, I'm still as in love with him as I was last night.

I watch as he sits down, he looks rumpled, but so very relaxed as he rubs his eyes and then looks back at me and smiles. I shift my eyes away and start making us some pancakes, but I can feel his eyes stay on me as I move around.

After a bit of comfortable silence in which I cook and he watches, I hear him get up and move over to the fridge, pulling out some juice, and then over to the cupboards where he retrieves two glasses. He sneaks a kiss as he brushes by me and then he's back sitting at the bar. I pull out a few plates, toss the pancakes onto one and join him, sitting across from him in the stool I left opposite him the night before.

We eat for a bit, and he comments on how much he likes the pancakes. I swell with pride at having pleased his expert cooking tastes. And while it's calm and comfortable, I can't help it when the questions start flowing back in and I need to know what he meant when he had been drifting into a dreamland.

"You said something last night, and I was just wondering…" I trail off, not knowing where to take this conversation. How to bring up something I'm so confused about. He quirks his eyebrow and I realize that he has no idea what he said, already too far gone to have had any conscious recollection of it. "It's nothing, never mind."

"No, it's fine," he says, his noise scrunching delicately, "I just don't know what it was. It wasn't something bad or embarrassing was it?"

"No, no," I assure him and then after a moment, jump topics, "Who was it that you ran into that day?"

Now he looks lost, not following the conversation in the slightest bit, and I can't blame him, I feel scattered enough as it is in my mind. "Who? What day?" he asks.

I wave my hand slightly, trying to act like there isn't something bothering me and that it's just a random question. "That day at the coffee shop. When we first met. You said you'd run into an old friend. Who was it?"

His face drops slightly and then I can see him pushing whatever emotion that just pressed forward to the back. "It was, uh," he stutters, and he's trying so hard to supress something, but I don't know why, "Tina. It's was Tina. She just moved here from Chicago, you know that."

"Well," I say nonchalantly, "I thought you said it was a he."

His eyes flick down to his plate and he's suddenly nervous. I shouldn't have brought this up at breakfast, but I'm being hit by something important here. Like there's something I should know that I don't and I'm determined to figure it out.

"I must have been talking about Mike, her boyfriend," Kurt explains. I want to believe him, I do, but he's avoiding something and I feel like it would affect me if I knew.

I put down my fork, "Her boyfriend? I thought you said he was _special_."

His eyes dart back up to mine and he's trying to get rid of the subject when he counters with, "Are you alright, Blaine?"

I should let it go. I should say it's nothing. But I don't. "You said that you were glad you found me. Again."

Any shred of hope I had that this wasn't something he was keeping from me falls away with his face when it drops completely, his careful mask of avoidance gone as his eyes go wide and it's almost like I can feel him beating himself up inside. "No," he gasps out, begging me not to ask.

I can feel myself harden. The careful comfort of the morning seeping out in shades of grey along the counters as I place my hands as calmly as possible on it. "So, what is it?" I ask, "I knew there was something about you. What is it?"

His expression is quiet as he blinks hard and mirrors my position with his hands, trying to stay as calm as he can. "I know."

My heart stops for a moment. He can't know. He simply can't. I would know if he knew. My mind rejects all possible outcomes that he knows about those years of my life that I keep hidden away. He doesn't know. He can't know.

"Know what?" I croak out quietly, and his face lifts to stare brokenly into my eyes. No. He doesn't know. He can't.

Kurt leans against the bar and reaches to hold my hand, but I pull back. I'm so confused and lost and he can't know.

But he does. And he opens his mouth and I want to shove the words back in before he speaks them. "I know about that last year of highschool," he explains, "I know about prom."

I shake my head and try to deflect the words. Try to get them to bounce off my hard exterior. If he knows, then he knew all this time, and he didn't say anything. He lied to me.

But he keeps talking, and my mind tries to place a visual on the words he's saying that I know are true but can't remember, his voice growing hoarser with each word, "I know that you got hit in the head with liquor bottles and assholes' boots until there was more blood than skin. I know you were in a coma. I know about all of it."

I don't remember any of it, but I've been told the story more than once. I was a junior in highschool. I went to prom with some friends that I've never met since. I was the victim of another gay bashing. It's always sounded so trivial and the fact that it was always just "another gay bashing" is what made it not feel real to me. It was just another one. Another kid, another incident, another moment of my life I'll never get back.

And it was simply another one for me, because the last thing I remember is getting beaten to a pulp, but not from this incident, from before. From a Sadie Hawkins dance in the ninth grade. The doctor had said something about how my mind reverted back to there in my memories because it was the last brain trauma I experienced. Majority of highschool wiped from existence for me. I don't remember changing schools, like I was told I did, I don't remember friends or homework. I don't remember any of it.

I was in a coma for two years while everyone carried on with their lives, and that's the excuse my parents always gave me. They moved on. They couldn't be expected to stay in Ohio when I wasn't even conscious. They moved on and away. And I didn't ask after them because I didn't know them. What was the point when they cared so little to check up on me?

But Kurt, Kurt knows. And he didn't say anything for the past two months, and he was trying not to say anything now. I don't know how he knows all the things I try to forget and hide away while attempting to be just a regular person. I don't know what's going on anymore and I feel like my whole world is reeling.

"How… how do you know that?" I stutter out, rising shakily from my seat to pace closer to the living room. Kurt turns on his stool to face me.

He looks so broken when he answers, "Because I was there, Blaine."

Everything stops for a minute. The clock stops ticking and my heart stops beating, if only for a moment. I hear my voice break the silence, "What?" Of all the ways I expected him to know, I didn't consider him actually being there.

"Did you think you went to prom alone?" he asks softly, "You had a date. You had a boyfriend."

"You." Suddenly it all clicks into place. The old friend he'd seen that had shaken him. The looks in the coffee shop. All those things he said about senior year and how something had happened that he didn't want to talk about. That special person. It was me all along.

His face crumbles and his voice turns so desperate, trying to get me to understand all his reasons, "God, I loved you so much and then everything got torn apart."

But I don't understand. As much as his voice is pleading with me, I don't understand. Kurt was my boyfriend. I had a boyfriend and no one told me. No one showed me a picture, no one said a word, and I don't understand why. "You were…" I trail off, trying to find some explanation for how he loved me, but he left. He left me in a coma and ran off to New York, and I don't understand how everything I've been told was a lie.

"And I just wanted to stay," he begs, trying to explain my thoughts and I wonder how he knows just what I'm thinking, and if this came from what could have been years in highschool together, "but, your family… my family, everyone. They didn't let me stay with you."

"Why…" is all I can seem to get out. I don't understand and all that's filling my head is why. Why would he lie to me, why would my parents lie to me? Why couldn't he stay?

"Because I know, Blaine," he replies calmly, even though I can see it tearing him up inside to say it out loud, "I know everything. I watched you get beaten up while trying to protect me. I watched you slip away that night. And I know that you weren't supposed to wake up."

I feel like I should have known it was coming, but it jolts through me when the words leave his mouth. That was something that was never said to me, but I always assumed. They said it was a miracle and wondrous news when I woke, but no one said that they weren't expecting me to. Immediately after the jolt wears off, anger starts pulsing through me. "So you… you decided to what?" I bite out, "Play around with my feelings now?"

Kurt looks stung and I wish I could take it back. Something about this is extremely hard for him, and I realize that whether or not he simply left since I wouldn't wake up, his boyfriend still got beaten around and put in a coma with little to no chance of survival. I'm being angry and selfish, and I feel entitled to it, but I shouldn't be throwing the punches at him.

"No. God, no," he's pleading again. Begging me to understand that there are pieces I'm still missing of the puzzle.

But I'm still angry and I'm trying to calm down. I'm pacing back and forth, my fists clenching and unclenching, "Then what were you doing? Not telling me?"

He wilts and searches my face with his eyes. That same blue that I had thought felt like opening a window, I just hadn't realized it was a window to my past at the time. "It's so complicated, Blaine," Kurt says, "Please, just, can we just sit and talk about this?"

"Alright then," I say determinedly as I stride closer and sit in the stool facing him, "Story for a story?"

His face instantly turns confused, but his pain is still there and I want to ignore it at the same time I want to comfort him. He shakes his head softly, "What?"

I look him dead in the eye and try to ignore the way his face is filled with concern, pain, and worst of all, pity. I can't take it, so I get up again and take a few steps away, my back turned towards him. "I tell you what I've been told, and you tell me what really happened."

"Blaine…" his voice is so broken that I instinctively turn back to him, only to catch the tears that have started welling up in his eyes. Everything about him is pleading. Pleading me not to ask, pleading me to not want to know, pleading to not make him relive the past he's been trying so hard to forget.

But I can't stand not knowing, having my past be a lie, "No. They lied to me. I want to know what happened." I take another look at his face and try to place it in my memories from before. Try to find him in the sea of confusion and all the years I lost, "God, I don't even know you."

"Yes, you do," Kurt's voice is harsh and demanding.

I throw my hands in the air and I can feel the frustration rolling off of me and my hands curl into fists in front of me, urging to knock a hole in the wall, "No, I don't!"

"I'm the same guy you took to dinner, the same guy you kissed under the stars!" his voice raises and I can see how hard it is for him not to leap out of his seat. He's trying to stay calm for me, and this should soothe me, but it doesn't. All I want to do is scream and hit things for even the audacity of losing those years of my life, and then having false ones put back in. Kurt controls his voice, reigning in his own urge to fight, "I didn't lie to you about anything other than that I already knew you."

I shake my head in frustration, "Why did you do it?"

Kurt's voice is loud again, and it's years of his own pain that start showing through, "I had to! They obviously didn't want you to know. They must have thought it would be easier."

Suddenly my mother's words from the night I first told her about Kurt come rolling back to me: _I just realized that I've made some mistakes in my life. _This was her mistake. Keeping it from me. Keeping Kurt from me and expecting that I'd never find him again. "How would that be easier?" I ask, and I can feel myself deflating. Going from angry to simply exhausted.

"Because you'd been gone so long, and I was already here, and I'd been trying to move on, I couldn't, but I was trying," his voice is thick with emotion and I can hear just how hard all these years have been for him. I lost it all, but he had to live through it. "They said you wouldn't wake up. I guess they just thought it would be easier if you didn't know."

"But, why?" I feel myself grasping for straws, trying to understand just why my family would do this to me. Why they would choose to not give me the truth about all those years. Why they wouldn't tell me that a beautiful boy was breaking because his heart got smashed along with my head.

"We were just two kids in love, Blaine," and he's wilted now, everything in him falling apart and I realize that he doesn't have the answers either. All these years, he's been grasping at the same straws I'm trying to find now, making excuses after excuses. "Who'd have known what would have happened if you didn't get bashed in the head. Who'd have known if we'd still be together. They didn't know what it felt like to us. They just wanted to protect you."

I feel a rush of anger sweep through me again and even as I try to keep it down, it comes barreling out anyways. My voice quiet but harsh, returning to the same question I can't get out of my head, and asking, "And what about you? Why didn't you say anything? Why'd you lie to me?"

"I didn't even know you were awake!" he screams, and it's like a slap right across the cheek. The pain and anguish on his face so evident that I forget my pain for a moment and see only his. The tears that had been pooling in his eyes breaking free and trailing paths down his cheeks.

"They didn't want me to know anymore," Kurt continues, his voice dropping to a less violent pitch, and it only makes his pain more visible as his face crumples. "They stopped telling me about you years ago. They didn't want me to know, and I couldn't handle it, so I had to stop asking."

He's shaking and I want to pull him in and make it stop, but it hurts too much for me. Every new piece of information I get rolling around in my head and colliding with everything I thought I knew. Kurt's voice rises again in anguish, yelling for the sake of yelling, trying to rid the ache he's held onto all these years, "Do you know how hard that was for me? And when I walked into the coffee shop that day and saw you? I didn't even know you were awake!"

I have to look away when a sob rips through him. His words saying awake, but everything screaming that he didn't know if I was alive. I don't know how to take this. I don't know how to deal with both our pain. I reach out blindly and my hand drags across the wall, giving me a steady hand as I sink to the floor. "That's why you looked like you'd seen a ghost…" I whisper, more to myself than him, "to you, I was already dead."

Kurt's on his knees at my feet in the next moment and his thumbs are swiping under my eyes, catching tears I hadn't been aware were escaping. "No, you weren't," he says fiercely, "You were never dead to me. I loved you, and I never stopped. You could never be dead to me."

I look up into his blue eyes, tears still leaking from the corners, and all I want is for him to hold me. To protect me and tell me it'll be okay. And so I snuggle into his chest, grasping his hands and pulling them around me until he gets the hint and wraps his body around me, sheltering me from the outside world and the pain I don't want to feel.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**:_ Well, this is it. We've hit the end. It's been a beautiful ride and I want to thank all of you for reading and being the most wonderful reviewers. I have loved each and every one of your comments, and I hope you all know that, whether I replied to you directly or not. I've got ideas for a possible sequel/companion piece from Kurt's point of view, but that might take some time to get to, so for now I'm waiting on what people think of that idea. Other than that, thank you so much for reading. =]_

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**Chapter Five**

Kurt pulls me up and gets me back into my bed. Laying me down on my side and then sitting close enough that I can feel the heat of his body, but he's not touching. I know he's a bit scared of how I might feel and react, so I reach behind me to where he's perched and grasp his hand, pulling him down next to me.

He lies with his front pressed against my back and allows our fingers to twine together before he brings them up to my chest to hold me.

"If it's any consolation," he whispers cautiously into my shoulder, "I thank a god I don't believe in every day for finding you again."

He stays quiet when I don't respond, and it's not that I don't want to offer him any semblance of comfort as well, it's that I'm not sure what there is to say. I can't tell him that I've been searching for him all this time. I can't tell him that I've seen his face in my dreams and that I longed for him back in my life. I can't tell him anything because I don't remember him from before. I only know that I love him now, and I don't want to say that because I don't know if I can trust what I know anymore, and more than anything, I'm scared.

He pulls me back against him even closer and continues talking to fill the air and help explain things, "I had called home about a month before I ran into you that first time. They said there was no news to give me."

It rolls through my thoughts and I'm so lost and confused about why my parents would lie to me, why they would lie to Kurt. We could have been happy since I woke up, and instead he's been walking around wondering if I'm even alive, and I've been missing someone I didn't know I could miss.

I gently squeeze his hand when all my words stick to my throat and he continues, "I think they just thought it was easier. They figured that I had a life out here and that it would be simpler for you to just start fresh."

"You were my boyfriend, Kurt," I croak and his whole body tightens around me, trying to make me feel safe since he knows he can't change the pain inside. "We loved each other."

"I know," his voice even quieter than before, and his tone gives away that he's trying to rationalize, trying to understand it himself, "I… I don't know why they did it."

I sigh and roll over in his arms, raising my hand to stroke across his cheek, and I lean in and kiss him reassuringly. He's hesitant at first, but then he relaxes into it and kisses back. I pull back and breathe across his lips, "I trust you."

His whole body sinks into mine with relief and I know he's been waiting for that statement. To know I'm not going to get up and run. To take all this information and use it against him. I don't know how I'd have reacted if he told me the first day he saw me that he knew me. I probably wouldn't have believed him, and I know that's not what he would have wanted. He was playing by the rules of some game neither of us understood. It's not his fault.

Kurt reaches a hand between us and comes up to rub at a tear that had leaked out of his eye, but I quickly pull his hand away and press a kiss to it instead. "Please tell me, though," I request, "tell me about the people I knew and the things that happened."

He pulls back and moves to sit up. I know that's the better way to have this conversation, but I can't help the small whine of protest of having his body leave mine. A small smile plays on his lips and then he's reaching down and dragging me up to sit across from him. When he gets me settled, he leans back and grabs at a stack of our clothes sitting on the edge of the bed that he must have folded earlier. From his jeans he pulls out a phone.

He straightens and then shuffles closer, moving over to my side, our knees touching where they're folded on the bed. He starts flicking through things on the screen and I wonder what he's doing, but I don't ask, just wait.

"Here," Kurt says, moving his phone so I can see the screen and I instantly feel my breath knocked out of me. It's a group shot, a bunch of kids standing around a trophy on a stage. Everyone's in black and gold; the girls in dresses, the guys in suspenders and bowties. I spot myself among them, and right beside me, grinning and holding my hand tightly, is Kurt. I can't help the sob that breaks out of my ribcage.

"Hey, hey," he says soothingly, his hand coming up to rub between my shoulders, "I'll introduce you to them all."

I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder as he passes the phone to me to hold since his one hand is busy rubbing circles into my back, then he points at the picture. "I'm assuming that you got that that's us," he says jokingly, and my lips twitch up into a smile.

He then points to a small brunette who has a large grin on her face and her arm slung around the waist of a lovely blonde who's smiling just as much. "That's Rachel and Quinn," he says, and suddenly my mind can fill in faces for all the stories he's told me about his roommate and this other girl, "I actually haven't looked at this picture in a bit, it's strange for them to be so happy. Rachel was getting married that night to him," he points to a tall boy on Rachel's other side, "but Quinn didn't want her to, for reasons you can guess. They didn't get married though. Quinn was in an accident on her way there… funny how things work out."

"An accident?" I ask. I've never met Rachel or Quinn, and I can guess why now, since they knew me, and Kurt was trying so hard for that secret to stay with him, but I'm instantly worried for the girl. She looks so youthful and full of life with her arm wrapped around the brunette's shoulders.

Kurt smiles sadly against my head, "Car accident. Compressed spine, was in a wheelchair for a bit, but she's fine now." Then he points to the boy he mentioned before, "That's Finn. I've mentioned him before."

"Your brother?" I clarify, and he nods, "He was going to get married at… what? 17?"

"Yeah. I remember talking well into the night many times with you about 'abused privileges' and how they weren't ready."

My heart throbs for a moment, "Did we talk about things like that? Like getting married?"

Kurt shifts above me and presses a kiss into my hair. "Not like that," he answers tenderly, "In theory we thought about it. The possibility of one day. We talked about how we wouldn't at that age, but it sounded like a nice idea for one day in the future."

I can't help but feel bad, that we thought about one day, and that one day could have been now if I hadn't been beaten up that night. He must feel me tense because his hand starts stroking my back more firmly, "Let's meet the rest of these kids, yeah?"

I nod and he continues, pointing to another blonde and a Latina who are holding hands and grinning at the camera. "That's Brittany and Santana," he explains, "Two of the most popular cheerleaders. Santana had a lot of issues when she came out so we, us and her, became a lot closer since we helped her out a lot. And Britt's lovely, her logic's a bit different than most, but I know you enjoyed it."

He moves his finger to the girl standing next to Brittany with her hand on her shoulder, "This is Sugar. She joined us that last year; she's a lot of fun. A lot like Brittany in her randomness."

"Tina and Mike," Kurt says, pointing now to an Asian couple. Mike has his hands wrapped around Tina and her smile could probably light up the world if she intended. "And since you asked earlier, he's not the one I was talking about at the coffee shop, it was you. But they do live here now, that was true." He laughs then as if suddenly remembering something, "You and Mike had an epic bromance going on that last year. Sometimes I'd walk in the choir room and you'd be having a dance off."

I smile and nuzzle farther into his neck as he carries on, pointing to a darker girl and a beach haired boy standing just behind her, "Mercedes and Sam. They had some on and off again thing because he moved away the year before and then came back."

He points to the three remaining guys in the front, one in a wheelchair, the other two on opposite sides, crouching down and making aggressive faces around their grins as they flexed their arms toughly. "Artie, Puck, and Rory," he says, pointing at each one so I can match the name to the face. "Puck was basically our greatest defender. He tried to hunt down and kick the shit out of the guys who… who did this to you. I wouldn't let him though; he'd have ended up in jail if he did."

The return to the heavy topic has me sighing and burying my face against him, squeezing my eyes shut. He's shown me all the people and I hate that I didn't know that any of them even existed. I had all these friends who probably don't know I'm awake, or even alive. My parents had mentioned that I went to prom with people, but they never made a choice to let me know who they were. And I definitely didn't know that they had no idea what was going on either. Any bitterness I had felt from the first year after waking up is quickly replaced with frustration for my family.

The phone is pulled out of my hand and then Kurt's arms are wrapping around me, holding me as close as possible and I long for the easiness of last night. Where things were uncomplicated and simple and all I had to worry about was telling Kurt I loved him at the wrong time.

I wrap my hands around his waist and I want to tell him now. I want to forget about the ache in my chest and share another moment with Kurt that's just about us and not about what I can't remember. Before I can tell him anything, though, he's pulling back and looking me in the eyes, "It's going to be okay. We'll figure it all out."

"There's not much to figure out," I grumble, "I've lost those years of my life twice."

He smiles hopefully, "Then I'll help you rebuild what really happened. I know you Blaine Anderson, we were together for over a year before it all happened. I know things your parents couldn't tell you even if they had tried."

I fight the urge to blush at his attention and instead duck my head shyly. He lifts my chin back up with his finger and his face has gone serious. "Maybe you should call your mom?" he suggests.

And that's how I end up on the phone, sitting in the kitchen, leaning most of my weight on the counter at the bar as I fight with my mother. Kurt's in the shower, insisting that it'll give me a little privacy, and that he'd have asked me to join if all this hadn't come up, but that I have more important things to deal with right now. Like the web of lies that collapsed around me.

"I knew this was going to happen," she says, he voice tearful, "when you mentioned him. I knew it was the same Kurt."

"And yet you still didn't tell me," I say gruffly. I'm trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, but it's hard when you've been lied to for years about the past.

She sighs, "What was I supposed to say when you just met him? When you were talking about how perfect and wonderful he was?"

"That's the problem," I say, my voice rising, "I shouldn't have just met him; I shouldn't have just learned that he's perfect and wonderful. I already thought that, I just couldn't remember, and nobody gave me the option to."

"Sweetheart," she coos , and I cringe at the pet name, "I promise you, your father and I had our reasons for this. Either way it was going to be difficult, we just figured this would help you adjust easier. You didn't know those people."

I grumble and swipe at my eyes. She could explain for hours, and I still don't think I could understand. "I would have learned to know them, mom. Obviously we would have gotten along or else we wouldn't have in the first place."

She huffs, "Think about it, Blaine. Think about all these people who knew all these things about you, but you couldn't recall one thing about them. How would you have liked that?"

"At lot more than I like this feeling right now!" I bark out and she goes quiet on the other end. "And what about Kurt? Someone I was in love with and who loved me? You destroyed him by cutting him off."

"We thought it would be better for him, as well," she explains softly, and I know I'm hurting her by yelling, but I can't focus on that when I'm already feeling mine and Kurt's pain. I can't add someone else's. "They didn't think you would wake up, Blaine. We thought it best if he just started living his life. Moving on."

I look up when I see Kurt out of the corner of my eye, peeking around the doorway to see if it's safe to come in. He's in the same thing he was before the shower, just my sweatpants, and the sight placates me. Kurt is comfortable and he's my home. I think he always has been.

I beckon him in with a crook of my finger as I shift my body to face him and say to my mother, "I don't think he could ever move on."

Kurt's eyes turn sad as he moves forward, reaching his hands up and smoothing them over my shoulders. I bring my spare hand around to his back and hold him in close as he presses a kiss into my hair while I lean my forehead against his chest.

"You should come back to Ohio for a bit," my mom says, "we'll talk and I'll explain everything. I never meant for it to turn out like this."

I make a small agreeing noise and then she's asking, "Yes? You'll come back? You'll come home for a bit?"

I look up at Kurt's eyes and feel warm all over, still like I could get lost in them even if I stared forever. "I'll come back to Ohio for a bit," I reply, "but I'm already home." And then I hang up before she can say anything else.

Kurt smiles wryly at me and I drop my head in amused shame. "That may have been a bit rude," I say.

"Just a bit," he replies, and pulls a stool up in front of me, shuffling it close so that his knees alternate mine.

"I meant it though," I whisper, and I look up into his face as I reach out of take his hands in mine. "I feel like I'm home with you."

He takes our hands and raises them to his lips, pressing a firm kiss into the backs of my hands before closing his eyes and pressing his nose into them with a smile on his lips. "You haven't changed a bit, you know that?" he says, "Just as effortlessly romantic as always."

I smile, pulling our hands back into my lap, and lean forward, capturing his lips with mine. We're both smiling when we pull back.

"Have you figured out what you're going to do?" he asks, his smile dropping slightly but still so gracefully filled with calmness.

I quirk my eyebrow, "What do you mean?"

He shuffles a bit on his seat, "Well, you have all this new information. What are you going to do with it?"

I look off to the side and ponder this. I'm not sure if there are many things for me to do with this information except learn and rebuild the years I lost. Move forward with the real knowledge. "I guess I'll try to get in contact with some of the people I knew. Let them know I'm okay. I could use your help with that."

He's silent and I look back into his eyes, bright blue searching across my face. I can see the small layer of fear hiding in them, carefully masked after years of hiding his pain.

I can't help but smile fondly. "I'm not going anywhere, you know," I express, and his eyes widen slightly before the corner of his lips turn up. "I still want you here. Home, remember?"

"I know," he says, "I just thought that… that after learning all this…" He's nervous, and I realize that this is it. This is that moment that was waiting every time the words were on my tongue and I forced them back. I pull our hands up to my chest and make sure to catch his gaze and keep it.

"Kurt, I… I love you," I express, and his face slowly but surely lights up, the sun couldn't look as bright as his eyes, "Not because I did before, but because I love you now."

He's grinning and he only bares his teeth when he's really happy. He ducks his head down and replies shyly, "I still love you from before."

My heart flutters a few times, knowing that he never stopped. Knowing that I'm someone worthy of deserving love all these years, of not being given up on. "I think that I would too," I say, and he looks back up at me, "if I could remember any of it. Maybe that's why I always felt so different around you. I always knew there was something about you."

He leans in and kisses me quick, pulling back and gazing at me fondly. "But I love you from now, as well," Kurt adds softly.

"Then please return the favour," I plead, "Tell me you're not going anywhere."

He laughs lightly and I realize in every fibre of my being how in love with him I am. It spreads through my veins and runs from the ends of my hair through to my toes. He slides forward off the stool and stands between my legs. "I'm not going anywhere," he assures, "Not without you."

I laugh out a "good" and slide off my stool to join him. I had wished earlier for another moment with Kurt where it was just us and none of the stress and complications of all the news that's come out today. I think I found it.

He runs his hands up my back and smirks when I reach out and wrap my arms around his waist. He swoops down, brushing past my ear and whispering, "I love you, Blaine," before he's back up again, his eyes flicking to mine as he bites his bottom lip through a smile.

I reach my hand up and smooth it over his cheek, "I love you, too, Kurt." I dart in for a kiss that we're both smiling into and this is it. This is love and now all the things that I've lost don't mean so much anymore with him here. I saw it in his eyes the first day, the window opening to the sky, and I wasn't expecting it to be so true, but by exposing me to my past, he's making my future possible. I hadn't known what I was waiting for, but it was him all along.

"Guess it's some kind of fate, huh?" I ask as he pulls back, grasping my hand and pulling me away from the kitchen bar and walking me out into the hall.

"I don't care what it is," Kurt says, "as long as I get to keep you around this time." And then he's spinning around and kissing me while we both giggle over how good it feels to be in love, dragging me willingly into the bedroom.


End file.
